


Teddy Bear

by MewMewKitty78



Series: "Stanchez" Drabbles [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Rick Won't Admit It, Carnival, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homosexuality, I don't know, I like it, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Teddy Bears, The Ending Is Weird But It's Not, Winning Prizes, assholes in love, i think, stanchez, they're on a date, young!Rick, young!stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 23:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MewMewKitty78/pseuds/MewMewKitty78
Summary: "You told me to win you something," Rick said, a shit-eating grin on his face. "So I did."Stan glared at the "prize" that Rick held out towards him. What the fuck was he going to do with a teddy bear?"OrStan and Rick go on a date, but they're assholes about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with the Stanchez thing. The inspiration for this one was pretty simple; my friend had a teddy bear he didn't want and gave it to me, and I just an with it. I like this drabble a lot more than the last one.
> 
> I tried to use a different writing style for this one. This chapter is written in present tense, which is something I struggle with, so if there are any mistakes tense-wise, let me know. If there are any grammar mistakes lie missing commons or run-on sentences, then that was just me writing how I feel Stan and Rick would talk. Just wanted to point that out.
> 
> Disclaimer: As I said before, I do not own any of the lovely folks in this story.

"W-why the fuck did I let you drag me out here?" Rick moaned as he took in the bright colors and large crowds of people.

"Because it's real easy to scam and pickpocket people who are dumb enough to waste their time at these types of things," Stan answered, firmly gripping Ricks skinny forearm and pulling him through the entrance and towards one of the more overly-crowded areas. "Plus, I haven't been to a carnival since my dad still gave a shit, and we both know how long ago that was." It was incredibly loud where they were, but Stan didn't need to hear to know Rick had snorted at his last comment.

Stan, still holding onto Rick with an almost iron grip, navigated the both of them along the busy boardwalk, his memory of the carnival layout having never had fully disappeared. He was a little surprised that in the almost eight years that had passed since he'd last been to this particular carnival, absolutely nothing had changed, and he wondered if the rides were even safe to go on anymore -not that they really had been in the first place.

"I c-can't help but feel like we're only h-here so you can take a trip d-down Nostalgia Lane," Rick grunted behind him. As right as he might've been, Stan would never admit it, and chose to take a look at the decorations surrounding him in favor of answering his cynical other half.

It really hadn't changed at all; the broad walk was still covered with people of all ages, some groups of teens, some couples ( _cough_ them _cough_ ), but mostly families; there were booths that served greasy, heart-clogging foods at every corner; next to almost all of those were souvenir stores that sold useless shit you'd never want again after that night; there were game booths that cost either an inane amount of tickets or dollars, and there were gullible, sticky fingered children at each and every one of them (and Stan had to remind himself that he had been one of those children at some point and also that the idea of he and Rick one day having a child to bring here was just _stupid stupid stupid_ _stop_ ).

Stan was incredibly pleased to see that they'd kept the giant ferris wheel, though he wasn't sure why they'd ever take it down in the first place, it was one of their most popular attractions. There was also an incredibly fast, incredibly loopy, mildly dangerous roller coaster on the other side of the park, and Stan knew he could talk Rick into playing a few games with him with promises of riding it later. Stan wasn't a big fan of going faster than 50 miles per hour, but Rick got a kick out of fast shit, so he'd make an exception just this one time.

"We should play a game real quick," Stan said, stopping for a second and finally letting Rick’s arm go free. Rick rubbed his now sore forearm and looked at Stan with a raised unibrow.

"I thought we came here to scam?"

"We did. But we should know what types of games they have here so we know the proper scam to put in place. Good God, Rick, haven't you ever heard of convenience sampling?" Stan huffed with a shake of the head, then wandered off to presumably find a game booth that caught his interest. Rick rolled his eyes, but followed along anyways; Stan _was_ his ride, after all.

After walking for another minute, Stan came to a stop in front of a high striker, a sign challenging those who passed by to "Test Your Strength" in neon blue. Rick glanced at Stan’s face and groaned when he saw the smirk his companion wore.

"Unless y-you're gonna hit that thing with your h-head, I don't want to stand here and w-watch you waste my time like this," Rick snarked.

"Then don't," Stan shot back, grabbing the mallet connected to the game and swinging it over his shoulder. He glanced back for a second to see if Rick really wasn't looking, felt his smirk turn to a smile when he saw that he was, and smashed the mallet down onto the circular lever. The puck sped _up up and away_ until it reached the top and Stan was given a small round of applause when the bell let out a loud ring.

Rick was not amused by carnivals or any of the attractions that came with them, but even he had to admit that that had been impressive, and he couldn't help but glance at Stan's powerful and exposed biceps. For not the first time that week, Rick said a silent _‘thank you’_ to the creator of short sleeved shirts.

"Alright, now that that's out of the way," Stan began, a cheerful look on his face as he returned to Rick’s side. "Let's play an actual game."

"Or we could just g-go home and get drunk. I p-picked up a bottle of rumchata that I've been w-waiting to crack open," Rick suggested, hands practically twitching at the thought of alcohol. It'd been almost an hour since his last drink and Stan had rushed him out of the apartment before he'd had a chance to refill his flask (which, now that he thinks about it, was probably on purpose, the bastard).

"Later," Stan promised. "For now let's just enjoy ourselves." At Rick's noncommittal grunt, Stan reached down and curled his fingers around Rick's, a subtle act that placated Rick almost every time, including now.

The two strolled amongst the lively groups of people, taking in the colorful lights that had been turned on once the sun had started to set. They passed a big red carnival tent and Stan was pretty sure there was some type of show going on inside, but he didn't bother bringing it up. His father took him and Ford to see one of the shows when they were seven, and when the lion tamer took the stage, he lost control of the animal and got his hand bit off, successfully traumatizing tons of kids and canceling the lion portion of the show for the next five years. After seeing that, Stan had never been able to look at lions the same.

Eventually, the two made it to the game booth area and stumbled across a balloon popping game. Stan lingered in front of the booth long enough for Rick, who hadn't been paying attention and had tried to continue walking, to be tugged back by their still connected hands. The dark-haired genius spun around, searching for what had been so damn interesting it had caused Stan to practically break his wrist.

"You know I don't pay attention when I'm walking; g-give me some warning next time," Rick grumbled, letting go of Stan's hand to cross his arms. "Are you gonna play this or something?"

"No, you are," Stan answered simply; Rick laughed.

" _Right_. Let the alcoholic with the shakes play the dart game. Great idea, hon."

"C’mon, it's just a game of trajectory and all that bullshit you n' Ford go on about. If anyone should play its you,"

"Don't lump me in the same category with your nerdy brother. I'm my own bad ass genius and I don’t need no damn comparisons, you feel me?" Rick stuck his tongue out and shot several nonsensical "gang signs" and Stan couldn't help but laugh. For a badass genius, Rick was fucking embarrassing.

"C’mon just play one," Stan begged, using that soft voice Rick liked so much. "Win me something, babe." It was a low blow, adding the babe onto there, but it worked; it always worked.

Rick scowled, knowing he'd been bested and huffed in defeat.

"Fine, but you're paying for it," he growled and got in line for the stupid game. Stan was lucky he was so fucking hot, or else Rick wouldn't put up with all this wishy-washy, carnival _bullshit_ (or at least that's what Rick kept telling himself).

When it was finally Rick's turn, he stepped up to the booth, snatched the three dollars out of Stan’s hand, and slammed the money down onto the counter.

"Gimmie one game," he grumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. He was a scientist for _fuck’s_ sake; he could be in his lab creating the cure for cancer, but instead he was out on the boardwalk playing a carnival game just so he could entertain his boyfr- _close companion who happened to be male_.

"Alrighty. Now the rules of the game are simple; you get eight shots to hit eight balloons. If you hit all of them, you get-" the cheery Boothe attendee (who was "only doing his job Rick, _Jesus_ ") was cut off by ricks annoyed stutter of _‘I fucking know already’_ , and snapped his mouth shut and placed the darts in front of Rick. Rick snatched up his ammo, held one in between his index finger and his thumb, and promptly popped the first balloon without having to look at it for longer than five seconds. He continued to effortlessly run down the line of balloons, until he'd popped all eight in record time, then turned to the booth attendant with a bored look on his face.

"So, do I like get a prize or whatever?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and belching. The attendant, who looked both disgusted and impressed, nodded and waved at a collection of trinkets behind him.

"Yes sir. Because you popped all eight balloons, you can pick from any item on the wall." Rick felt Stan's arm brush against his and he knew he was stepping up to announce what prize he wanted.

"The teddy bear," Rick said before Stan had a chance to open his mouth. "I want the teddy bear." The attendant nodded and went to retrieve the item of Rick’s choice, and Rick couldn't help but smirk when he felt Stan shove him.

"What the fuck?" The shorter man huffed, looking up at Rick irritably. The booth attendant handed Rick his prize and he turned to completely look at Stan.

"You told me to win you something," Rick said, a shit eating grin on his face. "So I did."

"I wanted the Caribbean Banana'" Stan whined, lower lip sticking out a bit. Rick shrugged and shoved the bear into Stan's personal space.

"Tough shit. I won the game, so I was the one who got to pick the prize. Take it or leave it,"

Stan glared at the "prize" that Rick held out towards him and decided that something _was_ better than nothing, but glared at the toy anyways. What the fuck was he going to do with a teddy bear?

 

 

After grabbing a couple of greasy burgers from one of the food stands, eating half their body weight in cotton candy, and then going on the super fast roller coaster, which made them puke up everything they'd just digested, Rick and Stan decided that it was about time to head home and overpower the taste of vomit with the sweet taste of rumchata and pass out on the kitchen floor. But before they could leave, Stan had asked ( _demanded_ ) they go on one last ride.

"L-look stan, I love the taste of my own vomit as much as the next guy -oh wait, I _don't_. So maybe we shouldn't go on any more rides," Rick complained.

"C’mon, Rick. My dad always took Ford and I on the ferris wheel before we left. It's like a tradition or some shit."

"Traditions are stupid,"

" _You're_ stupid."

"My I.Q of 300 begs to differ," Stan groaned and turned to face Rick.

"Just one more ride, okay? And then we're done. I promise." The two stared at each other for a minute before Rick rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that night.

"Fine, _fuck_ , let's just get this over with," and this time it was him dragging Stan along by the forearm (though they both were quite aware that Rick wasn't strong enough for any real dragging to go on).

"You'd think you'd be a little more excited about this. I mean we're gay; we're _supposed_ to do gay shit like this," Stan joked, jogging to keep up with Rick's spider legs. He might not have been able to out lift him, but Rick sure as shit could out walk him.

"Correction: _you're_ gay; _you're_ supposed to be doing gay stuff like this. I'm pansexual; I'm supposed to be doing pansexual things like having a hot orgy with a guy and a girl and a guy who used to be a girl," Rick shot back, causing Stan to scowl.

"No you're fucking not," he growled, possessives and jealousy, clear as day in his tone, and Rick genuinely smiled.

"I was _joking_ , Lee, Jesus," he said, heart pounding at the very thought of someone caring about him enough to get possessive. (Also, Stan was really hot when he was jealous.) The two were silent as they joined the relatively short line for the ferris wheel. It seemed the best time to go on was near closing time as most everyone had already left to either beat traffic or get their sleepy kids in bed.

Stan looked up at the ferris wheel and smiled as he remembered the first time he'd been on it; he and Ford had been four years old and terrified, thinking their father had been crazy for ever bringing them up that high. But as they'd gotten older, they'd come to appreciate it more, and once it'd stopped happening, the two had missed it a lot. They'd once gone together, but it hadn't really had the same effect, had lacked the presence of that special person ( _hell_ no they weren't special to each other; they saw each every day and annoyed the _shit_ out of each other most times). They'd both told each other they'd come back, but only when they had someone really special to them to bring. Ford had bought Fiddleford out here, back when they'd first started dating, and they came back a couple of months ago to celebrate their first anniversary (and also rub Stan’s singleness in his face, he was sure); Fiddleford had obviously been -and still is- special to Ford, you could tell just by the way they spoke to each other. Stan glanced over at Rick.

They might not've been that nice to one another, and they might not’ve been a “conventional” couple, like Ford and Fiddleford, but there was no doubt that Rick meant a hell of a lot to Stan, and -though he tried to deny it every chance he got- Stan meant just as much to Rick.

So it might not have been a perfect a date and he might not have gotten the prize he'd wanted, but Stan had gotten to spend the night with his favorite person, the guy he cared about, _his_ guy, and the were about thirty seconds away from continuing an unintentionally abandoned tradition.

Stan intertwined his fingers with Rick's as they board the ferries wheel and doesn't let go until they're too drunk for fine motor skills.

 

 

Stan is awaken by the distinct feeling that _something was missing_ , the same feeling he'd had for the past three days.

Rick had said something about needing to handle some business with the Council of Ricks and that he'd be back soon and that time ran slower in some dimensions than others and that Stan shouldn't be concerned if he was gone for a couple of days because a couple of days in this dimension was only a few hours in another. Then he'd given Stan a deep kiss, shot his portal gun at the wall, and was gone in a matter of seconds.

Despite him telling him not to worry, Stan couldn't help but do just that. Rick was out in God knows what dimension, doing God knows what, interacting with God knows how many dangerous Ricks, and Stan was stuck spending everyday missing the living _shit_ out of him.

And the thing that made an already shit situation shittier, was the fact that Stan couldn't even fucking _sleep_ without Rick next to him. The two had been sharing a bed for about four months now, and Stan had grown accustomed feeling Rick’s warm, bony body wrapped up in his arms every night before bed. The first two nights Rick had been gone, Stan had gotten one, two hours of sleep at the most. Thankfully, on the third night, Stan figured if he couldn't sleep, he'd at least be useful, and decided to clean out the closet. While he was digging around in there, he'd found the fluffy brown bear Rick had won for him almost two weeks ago at the carnival. Stan had smiled when he pulled it out and sat it down on the computer desk to get it out the way, and had completely forgotten about it by the time he'd finished cleaning.

He'd remembered it pretty easily as he lay in bed that night, missing the presence of his other half who he was trying so hard not to think about, because thinking about him honestly just made it worse. Stan knew he was being stupid and he knew it wouldn't make any difference, but he also knew that no one would know and he had nothing to lose, so he got out of bed, snatched the bear off the desk and got in bed with it.

For a split second he wished Rick had held the thing more so it'd at least smell like him, but threw that thought out the window, along with every other thought of the "R" word. He thought about getting drunk (with Rick) and stealing cars (with Rick) and buying a house, having kids, and dying happy (with RickRickRick).

At a certain point in the evening, Stan gave up on not thinking about Rick and only thought about Rick and was grateful the teddy bear was there to catch his tears when he’d thought too long. He hadn't wanted this damn thing to begin with and he _still_ didn't want it, he wanted the fucking banana with dreadlocks, but until Rick got back, this thing would have to work.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the ending to this one didn't fit that well. When I originally came up with the idea for this drabble, I had pictured Stan laying in bed with a teddy bear he did not want, but needed because Rick wasn't there, and I just couldn't leave it out of the final product.
> 
> Writing these Stanchez drabbles is pretty easy and a lot of fun, so I'll probably be posting another one pretty soon.


End file.
